


Ameliorate Your Suffering

by Aquielle



Series: Where My Demons Hide [8]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Castiel POV, Demon!Dean, Heartache, M/M, Smut adjacent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-03
Updated: 2014-10-03
Packaged: 2018-02-19 17:43:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 916
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2397146
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aquielle/pseuds/Aquielle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>No one should be placed above God, but this is his fault Castiel reasons.</p><p>Why make him hold such perfection in his hands only to snatch it away? Why bring him back over and over only to diminish everything he was? </p><p>Why did his father bring him so low and then take away the only thing that made his fall worth it?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ameliorate Your Suffering

**Author's Note:**

> Cas finally started talking, derailing my next intended entry completely.
> 
> Special thanks to Misha for the verbose inspiration.

He knows how to do this, how to be human.

He repeats this to himself like a mantra on his drive to Lebanon. Every last bit of the grace left inside of him must be saved. Incase Dean needs it, incase he calls. Why is it so much harder this time? Why is it sharp and jagged and eating away at the very fabric of him?

The ache he felt at the loss of his father is nothing compared to this pain. He knows on some level it is because he had fallen so far, but that doesn't stop the bitter slice of shame from cutting through him followed by another wave of rage.

No one should be placed above God, but this is his fault Castiel reasons. Why make him hold such perfection in his hands only to snatch it away? Why bring him back over and over only to diminish everything he was? Why did his father bring him so low and then take away the only thing that made his fall worth it?

                                                    *************************************

He tries to assure Sam that he will be fine, that every little thing doesn't remind him of what has been lost. The shirt that Sam wears smells like Dean. The chair that he is sitting in, Dean sat across from him and told him everything would work out the way it should just a week ago. Even looking a Sam, the sadness in his eyes with a flair of defiance and the cut of his cheekbones, it makes his chest hurt with longing for Dean.

He keeps himself together, brain firing on all synapsis for three whole days before he breaks down. The feeling as he tries to agree with Sam that they will find something soon is splintering in it's acuity. The melancholy and despair wrenched out of him in woeful sobs that he cannot seem to control.

"What if he's just gone? What...I never told him Sam." He feels as if something inside him has been broken, he is sorrowful and smaller than he has ever felt before.

Sam wraps his large frame around Castiel and pets him like a wounded animal eventually walking him to a room so he can sleep with promises that he'll feel better if he would just rest. Only after 15 hours of sleep does he realize where Sam has put him and he is grateful but still sad.

Sleeping in Dean's room is the only thing that makes him calm after a day of fruitless leads and research. Being surrounded by the smell of him is the only thing that keeps the panic rising in the back of his throat from erupting in a scream.

The first time he hears Dean's voice in his head, whiskey rough and dark he feels it like a caress inside him, curling low and warm. It's almost too much, the sound is pleading filled with desire and desperation.

This is the sound of Dean's longing and he curls around it, taking shelter inside it while he surrounds himself with the smell of Dean's bed. It takes two weeks of clutching himself and rocking, trying to contain the electric spark that shoots through him every time he hears Dean pray to him before it dawns on him to use the thoughts as a beacon.

                                                          ******************************

How can he look different but feel the same? Dean looks relieved and contrite before him and Castiel cannot help but hold on to him. The way Dean sinks into the embrace says more than the paltry fight he put up ever could.

The sulfur that emanates from his pores like a warning sign flashing stop, it does nothing to deter him. Castiel does not care how fundamentally he must change, he will alter himself. He will mould himself into exactly what Dean needs to fill up the empty spaces the way Dean fills up the heaven sized emptiness in himself.

                                                           ******************************

The taste of salt on his skin the hiss of air as it escapes between clenched teeth, the sharp inhales and guttural moans pour over him like a siren beckoning to his soul. He has given up the call of Heaven because his true purpose lies before him.

His father's most magnificent creation marred by the pit and the demons that reside within, he will reclaim. Angels were made to love absolutely, perhaps that is why he was chosen to love this broken man. It is with absolute certainty that he loves Dean.

Dean's need sounded across the chasm that was between them, every fiber in his being calling out to Castiel.

Reclamation is his intent, he cannot brand Dean's soul, but he will lay claim to every inch of his body inside and out. He will worship at the alter that he build himself, the long, tan, muscled limbs sprinkled with freckles that he so carefully placed. The moss green eyes that shift to black when he can no longer control his desire and his breath hitches sharp and jagged. The warmth of tense muscle as it flexes under his hands, this he will worship until the end of time itself.

The brightness buried inside the tumult of smoke only serves to ameliorate his hopes that his intention is not in vain. He will be vigilant and through. Dean will know that he is loved, worth more than the petty sins he throws his life away for.

He will be steadfast in his task, Sisyphean though it may be.


End file.
